


Philter

by Xela



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-21
Updated: 2012-03-21
Packaged: 2017-11-02 07:19:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xela/pseuds/Xela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the kid's own damed fault because McCoy clearly remembered sending around the “Don't Drink ANYTHING Given to You by an Orion Priestess During the Festival” memo, marked double urgent.  Twice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Philter

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you wondering at the title, a _philter_ is a drink that's supposed to excite sexual love in the drinker. My conversion to the Star Trek fandom is now complete. I will never be the same again.
> 
> Betaed by the effervescent nyghtpet.

“Get out of my Sick Bay.”

“Bones—”

“So help me Jim, you may be my best friend but I will kick your ass if you don't get out of my sight _yesterday.”_

“Perhaps, Captain, it would be wise to let Doctor McCoy attend to the situation without our interference,” Spock suggested. McCoy hated Jim even more for making him _grateful_ for the green-blooded hobgoblin.

An obnoxiously loud moan came from inside the private room. Bones fought back a blush. He didn't do blushing, not even for genius teenage officers making sex noises in his Sick Bay.

“Yes. Right, of course.” Kirk turned to leave, but not before smirking and guaranteeing himself a full series of hyposprays to the neck next time he was in Sick Bay. “Don't do anything I wouldn't do!”

“What, like take my teenaged navigator to an Orion _fertility festival_?” Bones yelled at his Captain's retreating back. Kirk shot him a thumbs up and McCoy growled. “God damn it, Jim.” Bones sighed the sigh of the long-suffering and went back into Chekov's private room. Time to clean up Jim's mistakes, let the kid detox in relative privacy.

“What the—Ensign Chekov!” Chekov was sprawled on the narrow hospital bed. Completely naked. With a really impressive erection. Chekov's eyes were hooded and glassy, his skin flush with blood. Sweat had his ridiculous blond curls sticking to his head. He looked like every wanton, uncensored fantasy Bones had ever had.

“Doktor!” Well fuck, McCoy very well could have gone his entire life without hearing the kid sound so...needy. Chekov trembled lightly, and McCoy's clinical mind noted it came in building waves. Chekov started out with small little jerks, then stronger ripples that had him clutching at the table, followed finally by—“OH, YES!” Chekov arched up off the table, one hand coming up to cup his erection, the other skimming up and down his torso. Chekov found his nipples with a happy whimper and some choice words in Russian.

McCoy spun around and blindly reached for the equipment tray on front of him. His blood pounded in his ears and it hurt to swallow. And he was completely not turned on because that would be fucking unprofessional. God DAMN Jim Kirk.

“Calm down, kid,” McCoy muttered, mostly to himself. Not like Chekov was in any condition to react. Which was the kid's own damed fault because McCoy clearly remembered sending around the “Don't Drink ANYTHING Given to You by an Orion Priestess During the Festival” memo, marked double urgent. Twice. “Alright kid, I'm just going to—Jesus Christ on a pogo stick.”

McCoy didn't even hear the hypo hit the ground. His attention was riveted to the way Chekov had three fingers buried in his ass, fucking himself with wanton abandon. His slick fingers and hole glistened with clear medical lubricant. Chekov moaned when he found his prostate, his cock twitching against his stomach. Bones felt his blood rushing South, but nothing in this universe could stop him from getting turned on by the display in front of him.

“Doktor,” Chekov pleaded, still fucking down onto his fingers. His face was twisted with effort. “I need...” Chekov whimpered and crooked his fingers more. He set his feet firmly on the table and lifted up so he could slide down further. There was nothing more in this universe that McCoy wanted more than to give Chekov what he needed. Fuck the Hippocratic oath, a dozen and one regulations and the good sense God gave him. McCoy's hands landed on another sedative, the one he usually kept handy for Jim. God, he couldn't do this. Beyond all the other stuff, Kirk wouldn't let him hear the end of it.

“Alright Ensign,” McCoy said cheerily. “If you just keep your hands to yourself, I'll give you this sedative and you can sleep off the effects of the—”

“NO!” Faster that he could track, Chekov launched himself off the thin bed and tackled McCoy to the ground. 

“Fuck, kid, get off of me!” Bones protested, trying to keep Chekov's squirming, tight little body away from his erection.

“Yes, dah, get off!” Chekov said cheerfully, tugging McCoy's shirt up and off. Bones wondered when he'd lost control of the situation, and then realized he'd never had it to being with. 

“You are out of your damn mind, kid! Stop it!” Chekov paused, hovering over McCoy with his stupid wide eyes and swollen lips. He looked...hurt. And pouty. Bones zeroed in on the kid's lower lip, stuck out and taunting him.

“Am not kid,” Chekov said, his accent thick and strained. “And am not out of mind. Everything is...” Chekov took McCoy's hand and dragged it over his skinny chest. McCoy could feel a shudder run through Chekov at the touch. Almost against his will Bones found himself touching Chekov, cataloguing his reactions. And the kid was very, very reactive. “It is _more_.” 

Without warning Chekov bent down and bit lightly on one of Bones' nipple, sharp teeth worrying sensitive skin. Bones jackknifed up at the unexpected sensation, his fingers tangling in Chekov's hair. He dragged Chekov up and pulled him into a bruising kiss. McCoy could still taste the heady, dusky flavor of sacred Orion wine.

“Fuck me, you're high,” McCoy sighed. Goddamn morals. They popped up at the most inopportune moments.

“High!” Chekov agreed merrily, trying to chase McCoy's lips. “And horny. I can do fuck, too!” Chekov licked a trail up McCoy's neck, talented tongue snaking up to worry McCoy's ear. Yeah, kid could 'do fuck' just fine. “But perhaps now, better for you to fuck me. I am ready.”

“God, kid. That's—” McCoy's hands slid to Chekov's hips, half of him pushing the young ensign away, the other half pulling him down. Chekov's skin was smooth and warm, young; McCoy didn't want to think about how the thought of leaving smudged bruises behind, marks to prove he was there, made his cock twitch.

“Not. Kid,” Checkov growled in McCoy's ear, sharp teeth punctuating his statement. “Unless you wish it. You want that? I can call you 'sir.' You can be surly commanding officer. Or you wish I call you 'Daddy'? Am told this can be hot.” McCoy let loose his own growl, which put Chekov's to shame, and flipped them over. He ground down into Chekov, smirking.

“I am not your Daddy, _kid,_ ” he hissed, grinding his hips into Chekov's. “But I am your superior officer.” Chekov giggled, grabbing Bones' ass and pressing them close together. He wrapped his legs high around Bones' waist, hooking his ankles together. Shit, kid was flexible.

“Understood, Sir,” Pavel whispered, his lips brushing against McCoy's cheek. Then he rolled his body, one long sinuous line, that made McCoy's eyes roll back.

“You better be in your right mind,” Bones muttered even as he dragged one hand over Chekov's ass. Boy was a runner without a doubt. He let himself touch, dragging the pads of his fingers up Chekov's body. The kid shivered and arched into his touch, panting and moaning encouragement. 

“Am not...left handed,” Chekov said between gasps. McCoy barked out a startled laugh.

“Christ, if you're still able to think I'm not doing something right.” The sound Chekov let out when McCoy's hand wrapped around his cock was purely pornographic. McCoy jacked him slowly, pressing his thumb against the head of Checkov's cock.

“больше, пожалуйста, я хочу--more, yes, more!” Chekov demanded, his hands clumsily trying to get Bones' pants off.

“Yeah, kid. Yeah, that's—” Bones broke free of him long enough to push his pants down to his knees. He leaned over to reach for the abandoned lube but Chekov used his distraction to roll them over. McCoy could only hang on, hands clutched around Chekov's bony hips as he sank down onto Bones' cock with a high-pitched murmur.

For a long time neither of them could form a coherent word, their pants and moans mixing in the heated air. Chekov fucked himself, legs straining with the effort. Bones hung on and helped when he could, but his attention was pretty shot by the hot grip of Chekov's ass. 

Chekov came with a small cry, head tilted back so his throat was exposed. His entire body tensed, muscle contracting, and Bones marveled at the sight, Chekov straining under the weight of his own pleasure. Bones let his hands skate over the taut planes of Chekov's chest, his stomach, his ass.

McCoy was so caught up in Chekov that his own orgasm took him completely by surprise. He lunged forward and sank his teeth into the corded tendons, marking, claiming. He bit with primal urgency, wanting Chekov to understand—for everyone to understand—what was his.

They slumped to the floor, boneless with satisfaction. Bones thought about grumping about the way Chekov snuggled into him, rubbing his head against Bones' chest. This was...this was good. He closed his eyes and let himself have his afterglow.

“Mmmmm,” Pavel moaned in contentment. If Bones were a younger man he'd probably be trying for round two right about now. “I am no longer a wirgin!”

“WHAT?!” McCoy almost had a heart attack. He sat up so fast he cracked his head on the low exam table. “You—that's not...are you _laughing?_ Oh hell no! Goddamn Russian sense of humor...”

"Do you know who inwented humor?"

****

Bones had a giant bruise on his forehead the next day.

“Have a good night, Bones?”

“Go to hell, Jim.”

“Really? That good?” Jim looked impressed. McCoy grimaced when Jim sat down on the other side of the table, chin propped in his hand and a thoughtful look on his face.

“Go away.”

“Aw, Bones! You're actually tolerable the morning after you get laid!”

“Brat.”

“Your reputation is going to suffer because of this.”

“I hate you.”

“But they'll write songs about Pavel. He who tamed the Surly Beast!”

“You're due for a physical soon, _Captain.”_

“Doktor. Keptin. Good morning.”

“Ah, Ensign. Just the man I was looking for. I need you to do something for me.”

“Yes, Keptin?” Bones let his head thump down on the table. Perfect. And ow.

“So I have this physical tomorrow morning, and I was thinking you could help me out...”


End file.
